


Honeymoon in Paris

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Wonder(ful) Years Verse [30]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Bathing, Comfort Porn, Honeymoon, M/M, Paris in the Rain, Schmoop, Slash, wonder(ful) years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Wonder(ful) Years 'verse, Peter and Neal are in Paris for their honeymoon.  That's pretty much it.  Don't expect a whole lot of plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeymoon in Paris

Neal couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the time zone. Back home, it was only a little after nine – still the shank of the evening and far too early to be in bed. Here, in Paris, it was three AM. 

He didn't travel all that much these days, so he wasn't used to the jet lag the way he once was. ASACs like him, like Peter, were kept in the office – it was the field agents who got to stretch their legs. Not that he minded. It was nice to go home every night and know that the man he'd loved for so long would be there, waiting for him. Or he'd be waiting for Peter. Of course, there were still the occasional out-of-town assignments, or more likely, conferences or meetings in D.C. that required a physical presence. But out of three-hundred-sixty-five nights a year, Neal figured that he slept next to Peter three hundred and fifty nights.

Which wasn't bad at all, despite the fact that he slept very badly those other fifteen nights.

But that didn't explain his restlessness tonight. Peter was sleeping like a worn-out puppy in the bed right behind him.

Peter, his _husband_.

Neal sighed with happiness at that thought and rubbed his thumb against the smooth gold band on his ring finger. It was hard to believe, but they were really, truly, irrevocably married.

And they were here in Paris, on their honeymoon. Not a cliché, but a true classic.

"Neal?" 

He turned away from his contemplation of the rain-drenched Parisian skyline. Peter had turned on the bedside lamp and was sitting up. "I thought you were sound asleep."

"I was, but then I wasn't. Opened my eyes, looked at the clock and wondered how the hell it could be after three in the morning."

"Because we're in Paris."

"On our honeymoon."

Neal grinned. "Yup."

"Then why is half of the bed empty?" Peter patted the sheets. "Why is my husband standing buck naked in front of the window when he should be busy being my little spoon?"

Neal laughed and shrugged, but made no move to get back into bed.

"What's the matter? I finally get to put a ring on your finger and now our sex life is over?"

"Not hardly. Just couldn't sleep, couldn't turn my brain off."

"Well, then maybe I should give you something else to occupy your mind?"

"Such as?"

Peter wagged his eyebrows. 

Neal gave in and climbed back into bed. He grabbed Peter's head and brought their mouths together and kissed him with all of the desperate passion he still felt after nearly thirty years together. He murmured against Peter's lips, "I don't think you have to worry about our sex life going stale."

Neal ground his hips against Peter's, loving the feel of his husband's massive erection against his own. As many times as they'd made love, each time was just as wonderful.

This wouldn't be the first time they fucked since Mozzie performed the rites that made them husbands. After their guests left, they'd celebrated the legality of their union before leaving for the airport, but both of them had been too tired to do anything but strip and shower and fall into bed once they'd made it to their room at the George V. The problem was that their internal body clocks were too out of sync with the time zone.

"Whatcha up for?" Peter kissed his neck, his breath warm against the now-damp skin. Neal shivered.

"This is nice." He undulated against Peter, who didn't hesitate to respond. 

"It's like we're kids again, humping each other raw because we were both too afraid to go all the way."

"Too afraid? Speak for yourself. If I recall, you insisted on waiting for my seventeenth birthday. I was ready, willing and able after our first weekend together." It took a little effort, but Neal rolled them over and he perched over Peter, letting just their dicks touch.

Peter bucked upwards, attempting to increase the contact but Neal anticipated his move and sat back on his haunches.

"I was only trying to protect you. You were sixteen."

"I was horny."

"So was I. But it seemed wrong."

"You didn't wait until you were seventeen."

"That's different."

"You were such a hypocrite, Peter Burke. Admit it."

Peter laughed. "Okay, I was. I was too scared I'd wreck it for you. That I'd hurt you."

"And reaching the magical milestone of my seventeenth birthday would make all the difference?"

"I was a kid, what do you want from me?"

Neal relaxed, there was no reason to keep needling Peter about a decision he'd made nearly thirty years ago. "Nothing more, nothing less than what you've already given me. You didn't hurt me, you didn't wreck it. I loved you then and I love you now." Neal leaned over, stretching full length against Peter and kissed him. 

And yawned.

"Nice, Caffrey. Really nice." Peter took advantage and rolled them both over.

"Shouldn't that be Caffrey-Burke?"

"I thought we decided on Burke-Caffrey. Age before beauty."

Neal snuggled back against Peter, a little ashamed to admit he was – at least for the moment – too tired for anything more than this. "Or B comes before C."

"Sometimes." Peter pressed his groin suggestively against Neal's ass.

"Goat. Dirty old man."

"Who are you calling old?"

Neal laughed, "I notice you aren't denying you're a goat, though."

"You've been calling me that since we were in college, and I see no reason to deny the obvious."

Neal yawned again. "Sorry. Guess everything's finally catching up to me."

Peter met his yawn and raised him. "Yeah, me too. Sleep, we have two whole weeks to enjoy ourselves." He draped a heavy arm over Neal's waist, holding him close. Much like he'd done every night most of the last thirty or so years.

Neal yawned again, and said, "Actually, we have the rest of our lives to enjoy ourselves."

"True enough." Peter kissed his shoulder.

Surrounded by warmth, by love, Neal fell asleep.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter glanced up at the solid expanse of gray sky and frowned. "Remind me, why did we pick Paris for our honeymoon?" They'd been in the City of Lights for three days and hadn't seen the sun once.

"Because we wanted to do something romantic, and Paris is romantic." Neal held out his hand and once again, Peter grabbed it.

"Okay, right." They had been trying to walk hand in hand across the Pont Des Arts after an excursion through the Louvre, but there were way too many people on the bridge. They'd take a few steps and someone would push against them, trying to pass, or they'd get split apart, trying to pass other dawdlers. "This doesn't feel very romantic. Can't even see the river for all these … locks."

"True." Neal side-eyed the acres of ugly metal defacing the bridge. "The idea is romantic, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired."

Peter breathed a tiny sigh of relief. He'd been afraid that Neal might just want to take part in the ritual of putting a padlock on the bridge railing and tossing the key into the river. "Yeah, it does. I've never been much for defacing public property."

Neal chuckled. "As long as your definition of "defacing public property" doesn't include having sex on a government-owned conference table."

Peter stopped in his tracks and burst out laughing. Trust Neal to deflate his pretensions. And trust the Parisian weather to drown his romantic intentions. The light mist that hadn't stopped since they'd arrived just turned into a downpour and within moments, they were both soaked to the skin.

Neal just shook his head and kept walking. "Don't even bother trying to hail a cab. The Metro will be quicker."

Twenty minutes later, they entered their hotel room and dripped all over the marble floor. The butler assigned to their suite rushed over to them with towels and steaming cups of cups of coffee. "Messieurs, I am so sorry about the weather."

"I don't think you're to blame for the weather, Michel." Peter first took the towel and wiped the rainwater from his face and hair, then exchanged it for the coffee. Neal had different priorities, and inhaled the coffee first. 

"I wish you'd let us arrange for a car service for you." The poor man seemed utterly distressed that they'd been caught in the rain.

Neal soothed him. "We're fine. The coffee is excellent and your kindness is appreciated."

Michel bowed and signaled for the waiting maid to take the towels and the now-empty cups. Peter had to figure that at nearly a five thousand Euros a night, they should be fawned over. He'd kept his mouth shut about Neal's selection of the George V - Four Seasons for their lodging, and didn't blink when Neal picked the Parisian Suite, with its stunning views of the Paris skyline and full-time butler and maid service. After three decades together, he finally made his peace with Neal's wealth.

"If you wish, I will have your clothing cleaned." 

Peter looked at Neal, who smiled and shrugged. "We're fine; we'd just like some privacy for the rest of the day."

Michel nodded and along with the maid, disappeared.

As soon as Peter heard the door to the servant's quarters shut, he said, "I have to say, he creeps me out."

"Yeah, maybe if we had one at home, we'd be more used to it." Neal got a speculative look on his face.

"No. No way. The doorman's bad enough. We don't need servants."

Neal laughed. "Why did I know that would be your answer?"

"Because you've known me almost your entire life?"

"True enough." Neal stepped in close and kissed him. It was a good kiss, full of promise and caffeine. 

It was a pity, though, that Peter sneezed in the middle of it. Then he sneezed again. And it was like someone had flipped a switch, because he couldn't stop sneezing. "Shit." The sneezing wouldn't stop, and then he got lightheaded and would have landed on his ass if Neal hadn't caught him and helped him over to the couch.

"Peter?" 

"Don't tell me this is happening, on our honeymoon. I never get sick."

"Okay, I won't. But how about a hot bath?"

Normally, Peter hated baths, but it actually sounded like a good idea right now. "Okay."

"Can you stand?"

"Of course I can stand!" Aggravated at himself, Peter pushed to his feet, got lightheaded, and almost fell over. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

Neal gave him a look, concern mixed with humor. "You really mean that."

"It's our honeymoon, damn it."

"And you never get sick, right?"

"I don't."

"Because germs are too scared of Big Bad Peter Burke."

"Exactly." He let Neal lead him into the bedroom. 

"Can you get undressed or do you need help?"

"You have to be kidding me, right?" Peter fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and scowled as his fingers refused to cooperate.

"Apparently not." Neal pushed his hands away and undid the shirt. He pulled it off and then stripped him of his white tee shirt and grimaced as he wadded up the wet fabric and tossed it onto a chair. "Ugh – you got soaked to the skin."

At least he was able to get out of his jeans and underwear without needing Neal's assistance. 

"Here, put this on while I get the bath running." Neal handed him on of the hotel's famously plush white robes and headed into the bathroom.

Peter called out, "You should probably join me. I'm sure you're just as wet."

Over the sound of running water, Peter heard Neal's bark of laughter. "There's a dirty joke in there, somewhere. I'm sure of it."

Peter was about to answer, "Maybe if you were a girl," but he started sneezing again. And damn it, he started shivering. How the hell did he get so sick so quickly?

Neal came out of the bathroom, and despite the shivers, despite the sneezing, Peter appreciated the sight of his husband, with his hair mussed and wearing nothing more than a pair of black boxer briefs.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks, and here I was thinking you looked like my favorite wet dream."

Neal chuckled and shook his head. Peter thought he might have even heard Neal mutter "goat" as he was herded into the bathroom.

Peter eyed the freestanding bathtub. "That's big enough for the two of us."

Neal kissed him on his shoulder as he stripped the robe off him. "Is that an invitation?"

"Engraved, embossed and hand-delivered." Peter leered at Neal. And sneezed.

"Come on, husband, get in the tub and get your mind out of the gutter."

"All right, all right." Peter climbed into the tub and he had to admit that the hot water felt really good.

"Relax, let me take care of you." Neal gently pushed him back against the high sloping side. "Close your eyes."

"Don't want to fall asleep."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to miss anything." But Peter did close his eyes and let the hot, silky water ease away the chill.

"I promise, you'll miss nothing." 

Peter sank up to his chin and listened to Neal as he moved around the room. Billy Joel's voice, singing about the joys of his hometown – their hometown – filled the space.

_It was so easy livin' day by day_  
Out of touch with the rhythm and blues  
But now I need a little give and take  
The New York Times, the Daily News 

"Trust you to find the perfect accompaniment to the moment."

"Mmm, yeah." Neal eased a rolled up towel under his neck.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss New York."

"But Paris is nice."

"Yeah, it is – but it's not home."

"No, it's not." 

Peter didn't open his eyes as Neal kissed him,. The heat and the water, the music softly playing in the background, contributed to a feeling of detachment. It wasn't that he didn't desire Neal, never that, but at the moment, he just wanted to enjoy the simple connection of lips and breath.

"Are you okay?"

Finally, Peter opened his eyes. Neal's face was just inches away, and he thought he might drown in the blueness of his husband's eyes. "Yeah, I'm perfect."

Neal smiled, but there was a touch of worry there. "You sure?"

He lifted a hand out of the bathwater and cupped Neal's cheek. "I love you. I love you so much. I don't understand how I got so lucky to have you in my life, in my heart, every day. You are my miracle, you know that?"

Neal blinked, and Peter wasn't sure but there might have been tears.

"You are my miracle, too. I love you beyond words." Neal leaned in and rested his forehead against his. "I can't imagine my life without you." His voice broke on those last words.

They stayed like that for a few moments, until the burgeoning cold caught up with Peter and he sneezed three times in quick succession, sending a minor tidal wave onto the floor.

When he caught his breath, Neal was sitting on the edge of the tub, a wry smile on his face. "So much for romance."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." Neal added some hot water to make up for what was lost and then proceeded to wash him very, very thoroughly. 

Peter enjoyed the ministrations, but when Neal's fingers got creative, he sighed and shook his head. "I think it's the heat."

"Or I'm molesting a sick man."

"I'm not _that_ sick."

Neal nodded, the gesture an exaggeration of his agreement. "I seem to recall giving you the same excuse that time in college. You didn't believe me then, I don't believe you now."

"You had pneumonia. This is a head cold. Believe me, my dick works just fine." Peter heaved himself up, sending another wave of water across the floor. He cupped his genitals, "Want a demonstration?" 

"You're crazy, you know that?" Neal insisted on helping him out of the tub and wrapped him in an enormous white towel. 

"And since when has that been a problem?"

Neal didn't answer as he finished drying him off and replaced the towel with the robe he'd worn earlier. The left the bathroom and Neal steered him towards the bedroom. "How about getting into bed? I'll order room service."

"How about getting rid of those – " Peter waved a hand at Neal's sole remaining garment – his black boxer briefs, "and joining me?"

"If that will make you happy."

"I couldn't think of anything that would make me happier."

Neal removed his underwear, and in an act wholly contrary to his usually careful treatment of his clothes, tossed them onto a chair. Peter's robe joined it.

Neal hit the light switch and the room fell into darkness. Even though it was only a little after four, the Paris skyline was lit against the rain-drenched gloom.

Neal got into the bed and they arranged themselves into their favorite sleeping position – Neal tucked into him, back to front. Peter felt bad, and commented, "I know that this probably isn't your dream honeymoon."

"Mmm, why do you say that?" Neal turned so they were facing each other.

"It hasn't stopped raining, I've caught a cold. It's not even five o'clock and we're in bed, but we're not having sex."

Neal rested his head against his shoulder and murmured, "I'm in bed with my husband, and nothing else matters. Not Paris, not the rain. And as for your cold, you'll get over it."

Peter sighed and kissed Neal on the forehead. "You know, you're right. This is the best honeymoon, ever."

"Because you have the best husband, ever."

"I couldn't agree more."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal tried not to resent the half-dozen other people in the elevator. It was, after all, Monday morning, and people did have to get to work. He just wished he could have just a few extra minutes of privacy with Peter.

Peter may or may not have felt the same aggravation with presence of the other people in the car. It was hard to tell – he had his game face on. And try as he might, Neal couldn't manage to put on his own. Peter had his little finger hooked around his, and just that simple contact was enough to send his pulse racing.

The car finally came to a stop at the twenty-first floor and he lost that contact as they made their way out.

Helen Chen, one of his agents – his favorite, truth be told – was already at her desk. "Sirs, welcome back." Peter nodded and continued onto his office, but Neal stopped.

"So?"

Helen picked up a pile of file folders. "Do you really want these before your first cup of coffee?"

"That bad?"

"More like unutterably boring."

"First day back, I don't mind boring. But how about I take those and you get me a cup of coffee and we ease into the day?"

Helen handed over the files. "Sounds like a plan."

Neal headed up to his own office, dropped the files on his desk, turned his computer on and contemplated the skyline – clear blue with a few drifting clouds. A perfect autumn day in New York and quite a contrast to the weather where they'd honeymooned. It had rained almost the entire ten days he and Peter were in Paris, but they didn't mind. The head cold that threatened to derail their holiday passed almost as quickly as it arrived. By the time they woke the next morning, Peter was fine. Like he'd so often proclaimed, germs didn't stand a chance against Big Bad Peter Burke.

They'd gone out during the days that followed, usually taking advantage of the hotel's car service. But the nights were spent doing what newlyweds usually did, having sex.

No, Neal corrected himself. _Making love_. Because no matter how raunchy they got, how kinky (and they really weren't that kinky) they played, sex with Peter was always an expression of love. 

Neal heard the ceramic scrap of a coffee cup as it was set on his desk and he turned around. Helen was seated, sipping from her own cup.

He picked up his mug, took a swallow and tried not to grimace. 

Helen noticed, though. She grinned and smiled, "Nothing like the taste of home, right."

Neal nodded his head and opened the first file. "Nope. Now, let's get to work."

__

FIN


End file.
